Signs in the Silence
by village bicycle
Summary: When a body is found in a pool of blood in an alley in LA, no one expects it to jump up wielding a knife. But upon further investigation, it becomes their mission to find this lost girl's family and her true identity. Will the broken teen find love along the way when she is taken to live with a detective's family? And who is she? Where is she from? Why do her bones scream of abuse?
1. Chapter 1

**I've been wanting to do this for a while. It's sort of out of the ordinary and I got the idea from an episode I watched of **_**Bones**_**. I've got the whole plot planned out but I'm fairly slack when it comes to updating, so stick with me. **

**Eesh, my nose is so blocked :S. I sound so cliched-ly sick it isn't even funny. Kill me now (no, don't. That would be unkind of you, good sirs).**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, particularly the episode that I'm basing this on, nor do I own Maximum Ride or Starbucks.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Police officer Ricky Broad patrols the quietened but still noisy streets of Los Angeles. Beside him, Officer Ivy Termico gives a yawn.

"I'm dead screwed," she groans. "Is it alright if we grab a coffee for a few minutes? I think I'm about to collapse."

"We've only been on the job for three hours," Broad replies with a skeptical eyebrow raised. He begins to walk once more, already dismissing his partner's idea.

"Come _on_, Ricky," Ivy Termico whines. "Get that stick out of your ass and loosen up for a minute, will ya?"

To say the least, Termico and Broad were completely different people. Broad was strict, neat and always stuck to the rules; Termico was outgoing, lively and sometimes had a rebellious streak. Broad remains surprised even to this day that Termico got a job with the force two years ago. She was better suited to nightclubs, not patrols.

"You go off and get your coffee," Broad says stonily. "I'm sure there's a Starbucks nearby that'll take you."

"You're not coming?" She sounds put out, but Broad doesn't look at her.

"No. Someone has to do some work around here." When there's silence from her, he shoots her a sharp glance and snaps, "Get a move on!"

Termico glares at him for a second before turning and stalking across the road, making her way down a connecting side street. Broad sighs and rubs his hands over his weary face.

He walks for another minute or so, gun safely tucked in his belt, until he hears a cry. He stops, ears perking and back straightening to attention. He waits, but doesn't hear it again – yet he was sure it was human.

Broad draws his gun and runs down the road, towards where he heard the sound. He peers down side streets and into shadowed crannies until a dark silhouette catches his eye in the even darker darkness of a dead-ended alley. It doesn't move, remaining coiled on the floor. Broad can't even be sure if it's alive. Hell, for all he knows it could just be a pile of rubbish. But he doesn't take that chance.

"Hello?" he calls. "Is anybody there?"

No reply.

He takes a few tentative steps closer, easing his torch from his belt with his free hand. "It's okay," he says as he switches it on_ low_, aiming the dim yellow light at the ground. "I won't hurt you."

He flicks the torch's beam at the silhouette and immediately cocks his gun. It's the blood-soaked body of a person, curled up on themselves. The blood looks fresh so the killer must be near, Broad decides, and aims the gun into the darkness around him, switching his torch to high.

"Come out with your hands up!" he yells. All he gets is an echo of his own voice.

He changes the light of his torch again, settling on medium, before kneeling beside the body. It isn't even stiff yet, and the skin is still the color of flesh rather than the blue-purple of the dead. It's still slightly warm, indicating the recence of the kill. With a slight frown, Officer Broad reaches his hand forward to feel the body's pulse, checking to see if it's certainly dead, when his fingers are grabbed and snapped by a harsh, bony hand. His eyes fill with black spots for a moment with the pain, but the second they fade he gets to his feet only to see the dead body standing, breathing, waving a kitchen steak knife at him and being totally _not dead_.

* * *

Termico scowls as she sips her coffee. _Of course he's not going to pick up his phone,_ she thinks bitterly. _His_ _uptight ass is pissed at me._ _Again._

Not giving up hope, she one-handedly dials once more. She brings the device to her ear, reminded for a second how annoyed she was about the old, dodgy model of Samsung, but the thought slips from her mind as Ricky Broad's voice finally answers.

Termico opens her mouth to speak, but he gets there first. "_Ivy, I think you need to be here_," he tells her tinnily, "_**now**_."

"What's going on?" she asks, immediately in officer-mode. Broad was constantly doubting her, but she did have another side – and that side was what got her the job as his partner, _not _luck (contrary to popular belief).

"_I don't think I can explain. Just make your way here. Get the car and drive here if you have to. Hurry!_"

She's already running to where she knows the car is parked, half-empty coffee dropped somewhere on the cement behind her. She can hear Broad's voice on the other end, but she misses his words.

"What was that, Broad?" she pants, the police car coming into her line of sight. She draws her keys from her pocket.

"_Call a social worker and reinforcements_," he repeats impatiently.

"Why a social worker?"

"_I can't communicate with this person. I don't think they understand me._"

"'This person'? Ricky, what's going on?"

"_Make sure the social worker can sign general ASL. And please, just hurry_." He tells her the street he's on and then the phone beeps his hang-up.

* * *

Ricky Broad gives a sigh of relief as he hears the tell-tale siren of police cars in range. A second later Ivy Termico is at his side, gun already pointed at the blood-masked, knife-wielding figure ahead of them.

"Don't shoot," Broad warns Termico. "How far away are the reinforcements?"

"A few minutes. Luckily the station isn't too far from here."

Broad nods. "How about the social worker?"

"She'll be with them. Turns out we have a social worker who's part of the police force."

"Well, aren't we lucky," Broad comments drily. A second later, he again tries to reason with the bloody person, but with no result. "Ivy, you try," he says exasperatedly.

Termico glances at him doubtfully, then the person. She takes a deep breath. "Hey," she says softly, pretending she was talking to her wild six-year-old cousin. She knows how you have to act around people like this. "Hey. It's alright. It's okay." She tentatively lowers her gun to the grimy floor and kicks it away, watching it disappear into the shadows, before standing and raising her empty hands in the air. She looks at Broad to do the same, and he grudgingly complies.

"Look, we're not going to hurt you," Termico soothes. "All we want is to _help _you. Find out where all that blood came from. You won't be harmed."

The person – girl, boy? Kid, teen, adult, elder? – stares back blankly, the skin which wasn't cracking with dried blood covered in a layer of filth. Broad wrinkles his nose subtly.

"Please just put down the knife," Termico pleads quietly. "Please."

The person's blank face seems to flicker for a second, and then the knife begins to lower, slowly, slowly, but snaps back up to attention the second police reinforcements rush to the sides of the two weapon-less officers.

A woman who clearly isn't an officer, with dark bobbed hair and even darker skin, walks ahead of all the police. She doesn't look at them, but calls, "Lower your guns, all of you. Can't you see how scared this poor person is?"

It takes a minute or so for the grudging officers to relinquish their weapons – after all, they had come there to _use_their weapons, not the opposite – but eventually they all have their own hands raised.

The social worker begins to speak – "Steffi," Broad whispers. "Her name's Allis Steffi." – but the grimy figure ahead of her remains blank. Allis Steffi's words don't dawn on the wild eyes of the unknown person.

Allis begins to sign.

Understanding dawns on the feral, blood-soaked figure.

It lowers its knife.

And then the officers jump on the figure and lock its hands in metal cuffs as the worker and Termico scream for them to stop.

* * *

**Good? Bad? Satisfactory? Let me know in that bright blue review box, will you? (:**

_**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW**_

**(By the way, if you skip past this and don't review, a scarred, bloody little girl called Cassannandra will show up in your room and bring doom to you for the rest of your life! Hahaha, just kidding - I got you there, didn't I? Lololololol. Oh, chain mail, you never get old.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is a tiny bit rushed and I wrote most of it on the way back from school (which is about a fifteen minute walk) on my phone, so excuse any mistakes or typos or things like that!**

**I love you so much for the responses to the last chapter! Now, enjoy this one for me!**

_**LINE BREAK**_

The bloodied girl – it _is_a girl, they've discovered, away from the covers of darkness – kicks and struggles against her captors, but the officers hold tight and don't release her. Her screams echo throughout the headquarters, and even though some may wince and some may flinch, no one moves to help her.

Suddenly, one of the forensic scientists appears – Lana Creek. She looks to the head officer with desperate eyes, her mouth forming the word, "Stop!" over and over. Her voice is drowned out by the filthy girl's screams.

Dr Creek runs over to the head officer of the FBI party in charge of the investigation. She stands on her toes to whisper in Agent Skaggs's ear, "Please, stop this, Satera."

Satera Skaggs looks back at Lana, her eyes chips of ice. "We can't ease up on her until she submits," Skaggs replies, voice cold. "Otherwise, how on earth will we get a result out of her?"

"You won't!" Lana protests. "Not if you continue like this. Can't you see how scared she is?"

Skaggs remains silent.

"She's _terrified_, Satera!" Lana runs a hand over her hair in frustration. As a result, a few fine dark brown strands escape from their bun. "Please," she whispers. "You know what it's like to be in this situation. Can't you remember your own dark youth?"

Skaggs swallows at these words, her jaw clenching. She fishes for words to say to Dr Creek but comes up with nothing.

"Fine," she breathes, so quietly none – not even Lana – hear. "Fine." Then, in a louder voice, she calls, "Stop!"

The chaos down below ceases immediately; almost comically. The only serious movement is the girl's struggles, and the only noises are her screams. Her writhing is less fervent, now, though; she knows they've won. But she doesn't let up.

"Allis," Skaggs says, beckoning to the middle-aged, ebony-skinned social worker. "Allis Steffi. Would you be so kind as to come here?" The stern lines of the officer's face remained unmoving.

Wide eyes looking slightly fearful, Allis Steffi comes up the stairs that lead to the overlooking balcony upon which the head FBI agent stands. Below, it remains practically still but for the flailing girl.

"Tell her we mean her no harm," Skaggs commands, not looking at Lana. "Tell everyone to stop forcing her and to be gentle. She's scared."

Steffi's face looks relieved. "I thought so too, Satera," she says, "I just couldn't really say anything." She grimaces down where the rabble still occurs, though now it's more hushed. "They just wouldn't let up."

Lana joins the conversation at this point. "Through x-rays, we need to find out how she held the knife," she says, switching to work-mode. "We were going to force her into examinations –" she gives a pointed look to Skaggs – "but that clearly isn't going to work, so do you think you could ease her up? Maybe give her a clean, too?"

Steffi nods, and then her face transforms to confusion. "To see how she held the knife? How does that influence anything?"

"Because we suspect her for murder."

_**LINE BREAK**_

_**THAT MORNING**_

Skaggs arrives at the apartment a bit late – the rest of her party is already there. They glance at her before resuming what they came here to do; there isn't any time for dallying pleasantries.

She examines the body, not letting any emotion show on her face. Her partner, Tom Ruckland, comes to her side.

"The janitor found him," Ruckland says, gesturing to the shaken Indian lady in a corner, a kneeling officer in front of her trying to pry out answers. "She called us as soon as she saw him. She was hysterical."

"I can imagine," Skaggs mutters. Though the sight of the body is nothing out of the ordinary – it's just a plain, middle-aged man with a beer belly and dirty old clothes – the sight of all that blood, and simply a dead body itself to anyone who wasn't used to things like that, could be emotionally scarring.

"How long dead?" Skaggs asks, tapping her chin with a long, perfect fingernail.

"We're not sure yet, but the discoloring is minor. We take it to be less than eight hours."

"Don't you find it a funny coincidence," Skaggs says thoughtfully, "that this body is found in the same eight hours as our Jane Doe was? Stabbed to death via knife, a mere one or two hour's walk from that alley?"

"That's what I thought." Ruckland frowns and rakes a hand through his hair. "But we can't make any accusations until we know for sure."

Skaggs grimaces. "It can't get much surer than this. Besides, how are we supposed to get a confession out of her? The girl can't speak."

Ruckland sighs and passes a hand over his face. "I don't know, Satera." He looks to the body, sprawled and blood-soaked on the linoleum floor. "I just don't know."

_**LINE BREAK**_

_**THE PRESENT**_

"The knife was wielded by a right-hander," Lana Creek says briskly, pointing to one of various stab wounds in the body down in the forensic labs. "You can tell by the slight curve in the wound, which indicates a rise in this side of the blade." Again she points. "Rises like this are traditionally on the right of knives like this, as this one is. Even if the stabs were being applied via both hands on the hilt, the person applying the wounds would be keeping their best hand first and foremost, meaning that the hand used here was clear.

"The knife wounds have been applied from a crooked angle, however; only slight, but noticeable. The murder victim – whose identity is currently still in the unknown, though blood tests are being composed as we speak – was already on the floor when the stabbing began. You can see this by the bruising and raising on his head and face, which shows that the victim was knocked to the floor. This can also be shown when you look at the knocked things at the murder site." Creek indicates this with a plastic-gloved finger. "Therefore, unless the killer had an odd willing to sit by the victim's side while they attacked, there would be one or multiple past bone fractures in the wrist or arm that would create a slightly crooked angle."

"And if the killer really was by the side of our victim?" Skaggs raises an eyebrow.

"If they were, the victim – who was a big man – would have gotten to his feet and fought back. Besides, there is light bruising on opposite sides of his hips, indicating the killer was in a straddling position."

"Unless he was unconscious when the stabbing began," Skaggs counters.

Lana shakes her head. "The first wounds applied were the ones to the head, striking down the victim, which were also dished out by the hilt of the knife – which you can see by the shaping of the bruises. Then there is light bruising on his hips, as I said, which means the killer had the victim pinned down after his fall. However, there are more bruises from the hilt —" she points — "as well as a few stray cuts and scratch marks from fingernails that came after the victim had been knocked over. All of these things show of a struggle while the killing took place."

Skaggs nodded. It made sense. But ... "What if the killer was sending the knife down with a slight angle on purpose? Or did it accidentally, but not because of a crookedness to their bone? It could be nothing to do with bone fractures at all."

"Doubtful." Lana shakes her head. "If that was the case, it would either be prominent or near invisible. This is neither; it sits between. However, your theory could prove correct ... but at the moment, this is all we have to go on, so we have to stick by it. It's all we've got for a lead until the blood tests come in."

Satisfied with the responses she has been given, Skaggs nods, holding back the ghost of a smile. "Well done, Lana," she congratulates. "How long until the tests are complete?"

"A couple of hours," Dr Creek replies. "The girl, Jane Doe, is with Allis Steffi. I think she's being cleaned up." Creek grimaces. "Hopefully she isn't being too difficult."

"Is anyone else with them, or is it just those two?" Skaggs's face was stern.

"I think there are others. It isn't just them – we wouldn't risk it while the girl's as wild as she is."

"Good." With another nod Skaggs left the room, calling over her shoulder, "We'll begin the girl's examinations as soon as we have the results from the victim's blood tests."

_**LINE BREAK**_

**If any of you were wondering, "Jane Doe" is the name given to female victims (dead or alive) whose identity sits in the unknown. The girl's real name isn't Jane Doe.**

**I know this chapter might have been slightly confusing, and in all actuality it was fairly short compared to my usual stuff. Oh well.**

**I know that at the moment it's a bit boring and just detective/crime-y, but Max's story as well as her romance with Fang will come into play soon, and then it won't be just information overload, I promise. Yes, this story is Fax, by the way – but what else were you expecting? Haha :).**

**I know this is a hugely long author's note and I'm just making it longer by saying this, but I really, freaking love the font 'Arabic Typesetting'. Hm.**

**By the way, I need to get a cover image for this story but I don't know what to make it, or where to find an image that would work, or what to draw if I want to draw one ... so, help me out?**

**Review! I love you guys all so much by the way, especially after the response I got to the last update – over one hundred hits for the very first chapter! Thank you so much! How about we see if you can please me that much again, huh? Maybe, hem, with a review or two? Hehe, thank you :).**

_**Review! **_


End file.
